


Oh No He Didn't!

by My_Alter_Ego



Series: White Collar Discussions [8]
Category: White Collar
Genre: Cheeky Con Men with Chutzpah, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-27
Updated: 2019-10-27
Packaged: 2021-01-04 06:28:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,191
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21193109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/My_Alter_Ego/pseuds/My_Alter_Ego
Summary: As a paroled felon, Neal had to put his time in at the FBI Bureau. Sometimes, that was extremely tedious and boring. When yet another in-service is being conducted at the White Collar office that is supposed to sharpen an agent’s observational skills, Neal balks. He doesn’t think he needs any additional instruction in that area. Read this fiction to see if he’s right.





	Oh No He Didn't!

Neal arrived at the FBI office precisely twenty minutes past the hour. In the con man’s mind that was a reasonably acceptable timeframe for his mandated presence. He found the bullpen strangely deserted, and when he glanced up at the conference room, he saw why. Everyone was crowded into the small space where an unidentified man had their complete attention. Neal jogged up the steps to Peter’s office and stuck his head in.

“What’s going on in there?” he asked his handler.

“Well, if you weren’t late to the party, you would know,” Peter growled.

“C’mon, Buddy, don’t keep me hanging,” Neal wheedled. “Who’s the dude holding court?”

Peter finally gave in and explained. “That’s an instructor from Quantico. He’s making the rounds of all the FBI office across the country giving refresher lectures and demonstrations on observing a crime scene for telltale evidence. You should go in, Neal. Maybe you might learn something.”

Neal gave that some thought. “Perhaps my skills are a bit rusty,” he admitted slowly. “I guess I should consider some practice just to keep my hand in.”

Peter followed Neal into the impromptu classroom and leaned against the wall. Neal, however, circled the table and took a standing position behind Jones and Diana, who were seated together intently watching a demonstration. The instructor had a tall case on wheels beside him, and when he opened the front, it looked like something a craft or scrapbooking enthusiast would use to store small tools and supplies. There were little pullout shelves with trays, and Neal noted that each tray had a number of small, everyday objects displayed. The FBI tutor would place a tray in the middle of the conference table for a few seconds before covering it with a towel. The objective of the exercise was for the participants to quickly scan it, and then name as many of the objects as they could recall that had been in plain view before they lost sight of them. Various agents were quickly calling out things like a cigarette butt, a rusty AA battery, a bullet, a comb, a short length of frayed purple ribbon, a nickel, and so on. It looked like a silly child’s game to Neal, so after the last tray was momentarily unveiled before being protected from peering eyes, he made his exit.

Fifteen minutes later, the conference broke up, and agents slowly meandered back to their desks. Diana gave Neal a cynical look. “What’s the matter, Caffrey? Was that just too boring for you to endure?”

“Maybe my observational skills don’t need any honing,” Neal replied with a smarmy grin. “Besides, I have other talents. Watch this,” he dared as he grabbed his fedora from the side of his desk, flipped it upside down, and ran his right hand over it. Suddenly, like magic, he was pulling Jones and Diana’s credentials and badges from of its interior.”

Diana was glaring. “I swear, Neal, if you ever try to lay your hands on my body again, I will break all of your fingers, one little metacarpal at a time!”

“Yeah, Caffrey, have a little respect for somebody’s personal space!” Jones said gruffly.

Neal was grinning like a happy toddler when Peter came by walking the Quantico guest out to the elevators. Both he and the instructor stopped at Neal’s desk. Making the erroneous assumption that Neal was an agent, the visitor turned to the CI and frowned. “Young man, I’m sorry you blew off my lecture and demonstration. It may not be wise to be so cocky! Perhaps you’re still a probie, so I’ll overlook your rude impertinence. Let me just say that we all have room for improvement when it comes to observational skills and recall, and I can’t stress how very important that is when one is responsible for solving crimes.”

Neal smiled charmingly at the chiding and pontificating individual. “Oh, I agree that being completely and accurately aware of your surroundings is of monumental importance in so many scenarios. For example, if one were performing a sting operation, one would need to be aware of every facet of his environment, even the surprise variables that might impact the success of his mission.” Neal had intentionally substituted the word “sting” instead of “heist” for Peter’s benefit. No sense in getting the boss man in a lather over the choice of vocabulary.

“So, are you saying that you feel confident in your ability to absorb information quickly and be able to accurately relate it at a later time?” the man challenged.

Neal raised his eyebrows. “Sir, I believe you have just thrown down the gauntlet. I only glanced at your last tray of items before I left the room. Would you like me to tell you what they were?”

“I’m all ears,” the man simpered as he opened his case and pulled out the top tray still covered by a towel.

“Okie dokie, I’ll start at the top and proceed from left to right,” Neal said agreeably. “There was a length of thin silver wire, approximately 4 inches long. From the kinks along its surface, I’d venture a guess it was once a paperclip that had been straightened. Next to that was a plastic hair barrette, probably belonging to a little girl since it was pink and had a picture of ‘Anna’ from the Walt Disney movie _Frozen_. Next up is a bullet casing, 9mm, which could be from a Glock, a Sig, or a Beretta, since they all take that caliber ammo. Moving on, there was a green generic circular rubber band that measured approximately 4 centimeters in diameter. Then there was a man’s watch, a silver metallic Rolex with the word ‘perpetual movement’ inscribed on its face. Since the sweep hand was jerking, it was a dead giveaway that it was a ‘Folex’ with a quartz movement. Oh, and by the way, the time on that watch’s dial was exactly 9:47 AM when you initially displayed it. There was a Bazooka Bubble Gum wrapper, and rounding out the objects was a small plastic figure—one of those little army men that you can buy by the dozen in any toy store. This little guy was 2 inches high and battleship grey. He had on fatigues and a helmet while perched on one knee sighting a carbine rifle in his hands. So, how’d I do?” Neal goaded, quite pleased with himself that he could channel Mozzie’s “Rainman” talent.

The FBI instructor’s mouth was actually hanging open and Peter was smiling proudly, at least for a brief moment until Jones made his own observation. “You missed one, Caffrey. You forgot about the little sheriff's star that probably came out of a crackerjack box.”

“Nah, Jones, I don’t think that item is really on this tray,” Neal objected with a smirk.

When the conman pulled the towel away with a dramatic flourish, in the star’s place was a different kind of badge belonging to Special Agent Peter Burke. Neal’s handler grabbed his purloined credentials in one hand and his CI in the other. “My office, Neal,” he snarled. “We need to have a conversation!”


End file.
